


i’ve been through hell in my life (but i know what heaven is)

by angelica_barnes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Love Confessions, Marius is a sad drunk, Multi, Mutual Pining, Religious Discussion, Revolution, Romantic Friendship, Unhealthy Relationships, also i fucked with the geography a little bit, and it's on the same road as the cafe, just so ya know, not a street, philosophical dicussions about death and religion and war, so rue plumet is now a building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: "Love. Time. Death. Now these three abstractions connect every single human being on Earth. Everything that we covet, everything that we fear not having, everything that we ultimately end up buying is because at the end of the day we long for love, we wish we had more time, and we fear death." (Collateral Beauty, 2016)or,In the month leading up to the revolution, Enjolras witnesses five love stories unfolding.He only learns the ending to his own.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Marius Pontmercy, Fantine/Jean Valjean, Javert/Jean Valjean, Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> title from NF's "Real"
> 
> PLAYLIST:  
> Things We Lost In The Fire (Bastille)
> 
> i hope you enjoy :)

  
  


prologue

_I was the match and you were the rock;_

_maybe we started this fire._

_we sat apart and watched._

_all we had burned on the pyre._

_we were born with nothing,_

_and we sure as hell have nothing now._

_these are the things we lost in the fire._

_\- Bastille (Things We Lost In The Fire)_

  
  


Enjolras knows love.

Funny to think, how in the middle of war, in the middle of black skies and red blood, a man like Enjolras could think of anything else. But somehow, no matter how he teases Marius for his starry eyes, Enjolras can never escape having his own.

The truth is, war breeds love. From misery spouts happiness of the purest kind, the truest kind, flowing beneath the skin in golden veins. With the rain, flowers bloom from ash and cobblestones.

Enjolras will make his grave at the barricade, he knows. And yet, more than this, love fills his head.

Impending doom, he thinks, can be no more frightening than feeling someone else’s skin against yours, friction sparking fire.


	2. 1) rejected love (almost love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> Trauma (NF)  
> I Know Those Eyes / This Man Is Dead (The Count of Monte Cristo)  
> Chlorine (twenty-one pilots) [Marius/Enjolras]

  
  


1\. rejected love (almost love)

**back to the beginning…**

  
  


_say you’re there when I feel helpless_

_if that’s true, why don’t you help me?_

_it’s my fault, I know I’m selfish_

First, in the ABC Café. Those mornings and nights Enjolras finds himself stuck there, he’s watching out the window, seeing people pass by with their hands clutched in each other’s, clutched in children’s.

This evening, barely anyone is about. After all, it’s late, nearly midnight, and the thieves will come slithering out of their holes soon. No one should ever be caught out there alone.

So Enjolras watches, having nothing better to do. His revolutionary friends have all gone home to their women and wine, unconsumed by rage and hunger. Enjolras himself, however, can never sleep again, not after nights of terrified screams and blood red rain. Instead he stays here, alone in the dark, surrounded by the empty chairs of his friends, the ones he knows will be filled again come tomorrow.

The streets are bare. He stares out into the mist, waiting for nothing, fingering the broken window pane.

From the shadows suddenly come two men. One chasing the other, it seems; the first seems frightened, desperate, the man following cold and angry. They shiver in the night, both their shirts half open, buttons hanging from broken and knotted strings.

A fight, no doubt, Enjolras thinks. Most likely over a lady, due to their state of undress - his mind wanders to Marius’ words earlier today, and how Enjolras had shoved him, grasped him, pushed him away and pulled him closer, their skin fiery red by the night’s end.

Back in the street, the first man has stopped running. A brand is visible on his chest, _24601_ , and the man chasing him crashes into him, unprepared for the race to end.

The first holds the second up, whispering something to him, and the second scowls, struggling to regain his balance. He breaks away from the first, still reaching for his companion’s wrist and grasping it roughly. He shouts something, voice muted by the rain and glass.

“... thief!”

The first man grins at this, cupping the second’s face in his hand. Their mouths connect in sloppy rhythm, bodies still shivering, hands tugging one another closer.

Enjolras closes his eyes, having seen enough. Perhaps he can sleep, just once, just tonight, if dreams allow.

Outside, the rain falls harder. The men move faster, harder, breathless and gasping for mercy as they each turn and run, out of the street and away from each other.

_stand alone, my soul is jealous_

_it wants love, but I reject it_

_trade my joy for my protection_

It’s not often that Enjolras leaves the Café, preferring his own company to others’, but here he stands at Rue Plumet, slumped against the gate. It’s raining again, the sky black, and Enjolras pulls his knees to his chest, burying his head in his arms. He’s too tired to move, bones sunken into the dirt like roots, keeping him here.

Through the chattering of his teeth, he hears the familiar frantic beat of Marius’ footsteps coming closer. He’d lift his head, if this was another day, but it’s not. So instead he stays on the ground, staring into the black of his own body, and waits for Marius to leave.

But Marius Pontmercy is not the kind to leave so easily. He settles beside Enjolras, leaning against him; warmth seeps into Enjolras’ bones, cold fingers clutched between Marius’ own.

Looking up, Enjolras meets Marius’ warm brown eyes, licking his lips clean of raindrops for a brief second. Marius smiles, wavering and small but still bedazzling, and Enjolras leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes.

Marius laughs softly, quietly, a tiny little joy that shakes both their bodies, their hands still tangled together between them. As Marius opens his mouth to speak, his warm breath brushes Enjolras’ frozen face, melting it into a smile.

Above them, someone clears their throat.

Enjolras raises his head. The man, from that night so many days before, has uncertain eyes, shifting from foot to foot in muddy police boots. Enjolras raises an eyebrow, and the man removes his hat and tucks it under his arm.

“Pardon me, monsieurs, but is this the residence of Jean Valjean?”

The man’s voice is soft, yet rough, as if there are calluses in his throat. Enjolras shrugs, pulling Marius closer and ducking his head. The man nods, shoulders drooping, and turns away, halfway down the street when the gate creaks open.

“Javert.”

Enjolras is careful not to move, pressing a kiss to Marius’ head. He raises his eyes and sees the same man the uncertain one had kissed, standing tall and quiet in the gateway. At his name, Enjolras assumes, Javert turns, eyes wide as they catch on who Enjolras now believes must be Valjean.

“Would you -” Valjean clears his throat. “Would you like to come in, Javert?”

Javert takes an aborted step forward, as if making to run, before freezing, eyes darting to Enjolras and Marius, curled beside the gate.

He turns and leaves, stomping down the street and kicking up mud and water. Valjean sighs, stepping back inside the yard and opening the gate wider. He smiles kindly at Enjolras and Marius.

“Come, boys. I’ve a fire, blankets, and soup.”

Enjolras nods his thanks, shaking Marius awake and ignoring how cold he feels when Marius stands up and pulls away.

_grab my hand, I’m drowning_

_I feel my heart pounding_

_why haven’t you found me yet?_

The night before the barricade, Enjolras falls asleep at the table. His friends surround him, knowing if they go home tonight, they won’t return to fight tomorrow. There is nothing more effective in deflecting war than reminders of what you’ll lose should you start one.

Of course, Enjolras finds this a mute point. These men have always found their way back to revolution, back to him, and a last kiss with a praying lady won’t change that.

Marius, of course, is outside. Rather than rest, he insists he keep watch, though they all know no one will come about tonight. Still, it’s an unspoken agreement among the students to never inquire about those Marius holds a flame for. Not respect, but fear, a protectiveness they’ve not held since Gavroche first refused to be quiet.

Hearing the door open, Enjolras sleepily opens one eye, wondering if Marius has finally returned. Instead, he finds the very boy carried in the arms of Valjean, who smiles tiredly, laying Marius down on the table Enjolras rests his head on.

“I found him outside,” the weathered man explains softly. “Nestled by the corner of the bookstore, fast asleep. I imagine… there was a girl there.”

Enjolras nods, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Thank you, monsieur. Goodnight.”

Valjean nods, a sharp jerk of his head that looks to pain his neck. The door closes quietly behind him, and Enjolras lets his head loll towards Marius’ hand, allowing his exhaustion to claim him.

Outside, Valjean’s hands reach for Javert’s, but the policeman wrenches away, shoving Valjean back into the bricks hard enough to bruise.

_I hold you so proudly_

_traumas, they surround me_

_I wish you’d just love me back_

Enjolras wakes up as the sun is rising, when the barricade needs building. He glances around the Café, wanting to startle his companions awake, but knowing better. They will fight better the more they sleep.

Instead, he pulls out a piece of paper and a quill. Not too late to write his will, he thinks, as if he has anything left to give.

There’s a slam on the door, and suddenly Enjolras is grasping at Marius and pulling him down under the table, ignoring the boy’s confused mumbling, holding him close, head cradled against Enjolras’ chest.

A bullet whizzes through the door, shattering the wood, and suddenly all the men have woken, dazed, scrambling for their muskets. Enjolras himself stays huddled beneath the table, praying Marius will be one of the ones who survives.

But no one comes crashing through the door. No more shots are fired, but the men stay at the ready, while through the window they watch as Javert touches the end of his pistol to Valjean’s forehead, only to never shoot.

They stand, they stare, and they cry, whispers on their lips that the revolutionaries will guess at but never hear.

_say you’re here, but I don’t feel it_

_give me peace, but then you steal it_

_watch them laugh at all my secrets_

Enjolras, of course, knows exactly who Javert is when he climbs over the barricade. He stays silent, pretending to believe the man in hopes of saving the remains of such a kind man’s heart, but those who have never laid eyes on Javert and Valjean’s desperate kisses are too angry and blind to anything but uniforms. Enjolras says no apology, but he thinks one as he leads Javert away under the hateful eyes of his friends.

Marius, of course, remains innocently quiet, pretending to wish the man dead as well, but Enjolras knows better, their eyes catching as he leads Javert from the barricade.

Valjean comes, demanding to help, and Enjolras doesn’t question him, instead offering a hardened frown and a loaded pistol, with knowing words to boot.

“The man belongs to you.”

Valjean disappears, and ten minutes later returns looking tired, devastation bleeding from his eyes and guilt seeping from his lips. The men gather around him, congratulating him on such a fine, quick kill, on the murder of a traitor, and Enjolras watches with Marius’ hand on his shoulder, knowing that no one has been murdered, but two people have died.

_scream and yell, but I feel speechless_

_ask for help, you call it weakness_

_lied and promised me my freedom_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. 2) lost love (hopeless love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> The Butterfly Effect (Before You Exit)  
> Apocalypse (Cigarettes After Sex) [Marius/Enjolras]

2\. lost love (hopeless love)

**back to the beginning…**

  
  


_ here we are _

_ tears are dripping to your lips _

_ who would ever guess we got here from that kiss? _

It’s been raining for days.

In the back of his mind, Enjolras is aware this doesn’t matter. Their revolution is only a month away, should things go as planned, and Enjolras is hellbent on making it so.

He’ll die soon anyway, with the way his mind is rotting.

Marius lays asleep beside him. Too many men, not enough beds; or at least that’s their excuse. In truth, Marius would’ve found some way to be curled against Enjolras by the end of the night anyway.

Reaching over, Enjolras threads their fingers together, pretending for a moment he can keep this. As if Marius’ heart is his to keep, as if he’s ever been handed it completely.

Enjolras could go back to sleep. Instead, he turns his head on the pillow and stares out the window, through the rain and through the window of Rue Plumet, where a man sits with a young girl and smiles.

_ now you say _

_ everything that you would change _

_ but we pushed too far _

_ with no chance to erase _

Marius has fallen ill. Enjolras keeps him warm, safe inside the Café, and the revolutionaries run about searching for medicine, doctors, but no one cares about a penniless student and his savage friends, as it is. So they are left to scrounge what they can from their books and cupboards.

Enjolras himself has stayed by Marius’ side, running his fingers through the boy’s hair and hoping he can hold on a little longer. There are so many people Marius has left to meet, so many left to love, so many who love him.

When Marius has finally closed his eyes, the others convince Enjolras to leave the Café for awhile. To wander the streets, stir up some trouble, find Gavroche. After all, there’s only a week until revolution, and without their leader, they stand no chance.

So Enjolras heads for the church, leaving his heart at home.

_ like the butterfly effect _

_ it was only just a speck _

_ that made into a brokenhearted mess _

The man from Rue Plumet is there, kneeled by the altar. The young girl (his daughter, Enjolras assumes) makes her way around the room, praying to candles.

Enjolras has never been a religious man. Seeing what he’s seen, no one could believe in a god, at least not one who’s still listening. But still, the church is open, and while Enjolras will believe for no one, he’ll pray for Marius.

The man from Rue Plumet smiles kindly at Enjolras as he kneels down beside him. There’s something familiar about him, almost as if they’ve met before, but Enjolras never forgets a name.

Forgetting means not caring. And god forbid any of his people believe their reason for hope doesn’t care.

“Who are you praying for?” The man asks, voice soft and warm, and Enjolras decides, in that moment, to pretend this man is the god he’s given up on.

“A friend of mine,” he answers. “Every hour he grows fainter. I fear he’ll fade to nothing by tonight.”

The man smiles, the expression soaked in sadness. His hand finds its way to Enjolras’ shoulder, holding tight.

“Then you should be with him,” the man says. “He needs you more than he needs God.”

Enjolras looks away, his heart wrenching in his chest.

“God can save him,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “God can change things. I cannot.”

The man smiles kindly, letting go.

“And yet, what is God if not human?”

Enjolras turns his head, a biting retort on his lips, but the man has already bowed his head yet again.

“Well then,” Enjolras rasps. “Who do you pray for?”

The man does not open his eyes.

“An angel,” he murmurs. “The angel Fantine, long missed by too many.”

Enjolras nods once, sharply, and leaves this sanctuary for that of Marius’ cold hands, whose fever clears at the touch of Enjolras’ skin to his.

_ like the butterfly effect _

_ it’s so easy to regret _

_ but I would never change the way we left _

Six days until the revolution now, and still the students refuse to let Marius walk. He stays at his desk, writing letter after letter to that girl who won’t stop knocking at the door, and his friends deliver them to said girl with swiftness and soft words.

Enjolras stays locked away. The people need him, he knows - in these last days before revolution, no one is needed more than the personification of the idea himself. But Enjolras cannot bring himself to leave his weak friend’s side.

“You cannot fight with us,” he says softly, staring out the window as the sun disappears behind yet another cloud. The familiar scratching of a pen against paper stops as Marius looks up at him, but Enjolras knows better than to meet his eyes.

“You will not keep me from fighting in a battle that is mine,” Marius says, voice strong and cold. “You can’t keep me from following you to our deaths.”

Across the street, the praying man and his daughter emerge from Rue Plumet. They make their way down the street, towards the graveyard.

“I can and I will,” Enjolras says, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “I can, and I will.”

The chair screeches against the floor as Marius bolts up, slamming his hands against the desk and sending papers flying. Enjolras doesn’t flinch.

“I am not some weak orphan you need to protect, Enjolras! This is my war as much as yours, and I will fight by your side like I’ve been meant to since we met!”

Enjolras ignores the confession for what it is, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the man and girl, now kneeling before a simple white cross. Enjolras imagines they’re praying, like back in the church. To Fantine, to the man’s lost soul. To the girl’s lost mother.

“You will not die for something as silly as revolution, Marius,” Enjolras murmurs. In front of him, Marius crashes to the floor, too weak to stand any longer.

“As silly as… Enjolras, this revolution is all you live for! All we live for! You will die in its name; why can’t I?”

Enjolras turns, finally, and meets Marius’ eyes, touching the boy’s hand on his knee.

“Because,” Enjolras whispers, standing and leaving Marius shivering on the floor. “This world will need hope when I leave it.”

Marius grits his teeth.

“Can we not hope and live and die for revolution together?”

Enjolras smiles wryly, looking back to close the door.

“I live for  _ you _ .”

_ though I wish you never broke my heart _

_ I don’t want a brand new start _

_ I’m not me without my scars _

In the cemetery, the praying man waits by the simple white cross. The girl is off picking flowers, pretty yellow things, laying them on strangers’ graves. When Enjolras reaches the man, his head is bowed in prayer, his lips chapped and bleeding from being bitten.

“Fantine?”

The man startles, but smiles as his eyes land on Enjolras standing beside him. He nods.

“Indeed.”

Enjolras feels his fingers twitch by his sides and clenches them into fists. He looks to the gray sky.

“Does she answer?”

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud. The man cranes his neck, staring up in wonder.

“No.”

_ though I wish we never fell apart _

_ it made us who we are _

_ and at least we left a mark _

Marius won’t speak to him.

Of course, Enjolras had been expecting this. Marius, when angry, is either screaming or silent, and he’s never screamed at Enjolras. So silence it is.

The others are worried about them, Enjolras knows. In revolution, hope can’t give up on himself. Hope can’t die.

There are four days until the revolution. Marius is up and about, hardly ever home with them. With him.

The students have all gone to bed. With five days left to live, it’s started to sink in, and they’ve all disappeared to sleep, to drink, to kiss. And Enjolras waits alone at the middle table, his red flag wrapped around his shoulders for warmth and a bottle of wine in his hands.

Outside, the praying man is smoking a pipe, leaning against the gates of Rue Plumet. The girl is in the upstairs window, asleep like an angel with her face washed in gold from a candle.

Fog is collecting the streets. The rain pours down, thunder rumbles, and children whimper and cry.

Marius isn’t home.

_ don’t you dare _

_ say it was all a waste _

_ cause we would never be the way we are today _

The next day, the sun doesn’t rise in pink and orange and gold. The world is black and gray, blue bodies writhing in muddy puddles all around. Enjolras gathers all the bread he and the others can find, can steal, and walk the streets spreading hope to the orphans.

There’s always thanks. Tears and gratefulness, with children on their knees before him. Enjolras wonders if this is what the praying man’s god feels like, then shakes the thought from his head.

Down the street, Marius comes hand in hand with the dirty girl, the two giggling and whispering. His eyes flicker towards Enjolras, who remains carefully blank.

Marius turns away.

_ now we find _

_ beauty in all the pain _

_ there’s a reason for the rainbow through the rain _

It’s dark out when Enjolras once again sees the praying man, and he’s the one who rushes forward this time, making a desperate grab for the man’s arm.

“Your name, Monsieur?”

He is breathless when he asks, wet curls clinging to his face and neck, and he’s shivering down to his toes, feeling the cold seeping into his bones and grounding itself there.

“Valjean, dear boy,” the praying man offers, another kind smile on his lips. “And you lead the revolution.”

Enjolras doesn’t nod, nor shake his head.

“Enjolras, sir.”

Valjean claps him on the shoulder, grinning. He coughs.

“Lead well then, Enjolras. We all look to you.”

Enjolras lets go, and Valjean turns and begins making his way to his door, knob squealing as he turns it.

“Don’t,” Enjolras rasps, and Valjean meets his eyes. “Look to the heavens.”

Valjean raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wooden door.

“I would think you didn’t believe in God, after all you’ve said about Him,” Valjean says softly. Enjolras looks to the ground, clenching his fingers into fists.

“No,” he says. “But I believe in angels.”

_ like the butterfly effect _

_ what you get is what you get _

_ but I would never change the way we left _

At home, in the candlelight and surrounded by empty chairs, Marius waits. Enjolras closes the door quietly behind himself, not daring to smile, and Marius stands.

“I’ve heard we fight tomorrow,” he says. “How early?”

Enjolras doesn’t answer right away, taking his time as he weaves around tables to make his way to Marius’ side. He touches a hand to the boy’s waist, taking Marius’ warm hand in his other.

“Too late,” he murmurs. “Too late as always.”

Marius simply nods, wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ waist and forcing him to come closer, pushing his face into Enjolras’ neck and closing his eyes.

Enjolras begins to spin and sway, humming some old drinking song he remembers from his younger days.

“Could you die for me?” Marius asks, quiet, and Enjolras feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Tomorrow?”

Enjolras answers as softly as he can, almost hoping Marius doesn’t hear him.

“If you can live for me,” he whispers. “Every day after.”

_ like the butterfly effect _

_ wonder if we never met _

_ would I have lost my heart inside my chest _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	4. 3) fast love (reckless love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> In A Crowd Of Thousands (Annapantsu, Richard Eyler)  
> Fire On Fire (Sam Smith) [Marius/Enjolras]

3\. fast love (reckless love)

**back to the beginning…**

  
  


_ it was june, I was ten _

_ I still think of that day now and then _

_ a parade and a girl _

_ in that crowd of thousands _

It’s a black night when Marius comes tumbling through the Café’s doors, crashing through their friends towards Enjolras. He’s glowing as he falls into Enjolras’ arms, breathless.

“An angel, Enjolras,” he whispers as the others pause their drinking, now thoroughly captivated by the not-so-unusual sight of Marius tangled up in Enjolras’ arms. “I have met the most beautiful angel on earth.”

Something in Enjolras’ chest tightens, but he ignores it. There’s no time for that now that death is knocking at their door.

“And what did this angel look like?” Enjolras asks softly, hoping Marius can’t tell how fast his heart is beating. Marius sighs, pushing himself upright and spinning around, coat tails flying.

“Beautiful scarlet hair, falling to her waist in luscious waves! Dark, dark eyes, black like the depths of the sea! An angel from above!”

He sighs happily, and Enjolras chances a glance around the room. Most of the students are smiling; some are watching him. Enjolras forces himself forward, shutting out the sadness and letting the unjustified anger in.

“No one cares about your lonely soul!”

Marius turns, delight in his eyes shattered, and Enjolras turns away, stomping towards the middle table. He climbs onto it, waving the red flag.

“Red! The blood of angry men!”

_ My blood. _

“Black! The dark of ages past!”

_ My past. _

Marius’ eyes grow fiery and passionate. He climbs up beside Enjolras, hands clenched into fists.

“Red! I feel my soul on fire!”

_ Let me burn. _

“Black! My world if she’s not there!”

_ Let me burn in your place if this how you look forevermore. _

“Red! The color of desire!”

_ Let me burn if burning is what wanting you will cost. _

“Black! The color of despair!”

_ Let me burn until nothing remains but my charred heart in your hands. _

Enjolras offers a smile, wanting to touch Marius again, but he knows better. Instead he lets slip what encouragement he can.

“I do not doubt you mean it well.”

_ she sat straight as a queen _

_ only eight but so proud and serene _

_ how they cheered, how I stared _

_ in that crowd of thousands _

Marius has been gone five hours now, having disappeared with that dirty street girl and a letter. Enjolras waits at the window for him, all the candles blown out. The others have long gone to bed.

Enjolras wonders what her name is. Marius has had no time for love, not since he joined the revolution. And while the others have told Enjolras - not in so many words, but enough to be understood - that Marius loves him, Enjolras knows no such thing can be true.

He may believe in angels, but he won’t believe in heaven.

_ then I started to run and to call out her name _

_ as the crowd on the road went wild _

_ I reached out with my hand and looked up _

_ and then she smiled _

When Marius returns home, the Café has emptied. Enjolras looks up from the barricade plans to meet the boy’s eyes, smiling tiredly.

“The others left. Too drunk and drained to fight.”

Marius nods slowly, shutting the door quietly behind him. He moves to light a candle, but Enjolras shakes his head.

“No. Keep the black.”

Marius watches him, eyes dancing across Enjolras’ exhausted frame. He nods, putting the matches back in his pocket.

“Any reason?” He asks tentatively, almost to Enjolras’ side now. Enjolras shakes his head, answering anyway.

“You,” he murmurs. “With your black hair and red mouth. I must confess… when you described your angel, I could not take my eyes off my own.”

Marius doesn’t stop walking, pressing up against Enjolras’ side.

“You don’t believe in God,” Marius says, quiet, and Enjolras sighs, straightening up and turning to face his friend.

“No,” he admits, hands shaking by his sides. “But I believe in angels. I believe in you.”

Marius nods, turns away, and says nothing else.

_ the parade traveled on _

_ with the sun in my eyes, she was gone _

_ but if I were still ten _

_ in that crowd of thousands _

_ I’d find her again _

The others have taken to sleeping at the Café with him. By the time they’re drunk enough to feel drowsy, the sun has set, and what kind of leader would Enjolras be if he let his own friends wander out into the night alone and tipsy?

So instead he waits by the door, making sure none of them try to wander away. Revolution comes tomorrow, and they cannot afford to be afraid.

Marius arrives home to them in the golden hours of the early morning. He kneels before Enjolras and takes his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“She looks like you, you know,” Marius murmurs. “My angel. In the sunlight, her hair is burning flames, but in darkness, it’s golden like yours. Her eyes, they sparkle like yours.”

Enjolras pretends he doesn’t understand, pulling Marius closer and toppling on top of him from the chair, laughing as Marius does and feeling his heart shake with sadness in his rib cage.

It is one thing to not be loved. It is entirely another to be loved and not be chosen anyway.

_ a parade passing by _

_ it was hot, not a cloud in the sky _

_ then a boy caught my eye _

_ in a crowd of thousands _

The men sleep late into the early hours of the morning. Marius stays awake beside Enjolras, writing letter after letter to loved ones, not only his but those of the snoring men surrounding them. Sometime around when the sun rises, Enjolras touches his hand to Marius’ knee beneath the table, startling the boy out of his trance.

“Have you written to your angel, Marius?” He whispers. “She shall miss you without explanation.”

Marius stares into Enjolras’ eyes, unblinking. Eventually he offers an uncertain smile.

“Cosette shall barely notice my absence, I believe,” he says softly in return. “‘Ponine, however, I worry over.”

Enjolras doesn’t ask after the dirty girl, already knowing that story. Instead he inquires after Marius’ angel once again.

“Your angel. How could your angel not miss you?”

Marius shrugs, smile fading. He rests his hand on his thigh, fingertips brushing Enjolras’ knuckles.

“We’ll be ascending to the heavens, Enjolras,” Marius answers, looking back down to his papers and scribbling down yet another heartfelt apology. “There’ll be plenty of angels there.”

“But not yours,” Enjolras presses, suddenly furious for a reason he cannot fully understand. “But not yours, so then why should it matter?”

Marius raises his eyes, clear and strong as they meet Enjolras’, his expression blank.

“Well, you’ll be there, won’t you?”

The best he can, Enjolras jerks his head in what he hopes is a nod, and Marius smiles and returns to his work, never looking up again.

_ he was thin, not too clean _

_ there were guards but he dodged in between _

_ yes, he made himself seen _

_ in that crowd of thousands _

The morning of the barricade, the sun rises slowly. The others are already on their feet, greeted by the usual sight of Enjolras and Marius side by side, holding the ragged red flag high above their heads, already singing. Joining in, the men begin to gather all they need, and soon the people are locked in their houses, the guns are loaded, and their barricade is built.

Gavroche is too eager to fight, trying to climb beyond the barricade. They manage to keep him back, but not for long, and for less and less each time. So by nightfall he’s held, confined, in Enjolras’ arms.

With nothing to do, his eyelids droop closed before the sun is done setting, and the sleeping child stays undisturbed in Enjolras’ arms as the sky turns black with night and the streets stay clean of blood (for now).

Not a single shot has been fired by the time the first stars come into view, but Enjolras knows better than to think this revolution has won without a fight. Wherever there is evil, there is also hope, and the evil will always attempt to snuff it out.

He looks to Marius, head resting on Enjolras’ leg as he sleeps, and he thinks of the angel waiting for Marius somewhere far away from here. It’s not too late to leave; he could take Marius and Gavroche and run.

But then what kind of hope would he be?

_ then he called out my name and he started to run _

_ through the sun and the heat and crowd _

_ I tried not to smile but I smiled _

_ and then he bowed _

The first shot rings out when it’s dark enough that they can see nothing, the moon hidden behind the clouds. The men awake shouting, scrambling for their guns and running for the nearest hole in the barricade, ready to shoot.

As the chaos begins, Gavroche escapes his hold, and Enjolras rushes to grasp him only to be held back from behind. He turns, and there is Marius and his wide brown eyes, brave and frightened all the same.

“We’re not ready to die,” Marius rasps, pulling Enjolras closer as Gavroche’s footsteps fade behind the gunshots. “They’re not ready to die, Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiles, reaching out and taking Marius’ face in his hands. A fire has started somewhere in him, one that was there long before this revolution began, and he feels he glows with it, wanting to wave his flag above his head and call for freedom even more fiercely.

“Of course not,” he says, knowing they’ll be martyrs. “That’s why we fight to live.”

Marius’ breaths are coming quicker now, and as Enjolras breaks away to join the battle, Marius pulls him back, crushing their mouths together. Enjolras has no time to think, to realize, because Marius is already pushing him away, grinning.

“Don’t die now, Enjolras,” he whispers, as if it’s their secret. “If hope dies, how will we go on?”

_ I need you,  _ he means, and Enjolras wants to pull him in and kiss him again, but he knows better.

“I promise,” he says, lying through his teeth. “I promise we will be okay.”

_ the parade traveled on _

_ with the sun in my eyes, you were gone _

_ but I knew even then _

_ in a crowd of thousands _

_ I’d find you again _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	5. intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> Youth (Daughter)

  
  


intermission

_ doubt thou the stars are fire; _

_ doubt the sun doth move; _

_ doubt truth to be a liar; _

_ but never doubt I love. _

_ \- William Shakespeare (Hamlet) _

  
  


Enjolras has found, in years, that there is no reason other than love for anything. He himself has been guilty of this a million times over, in a billion different ways.

He has started a revolution. He fights for justice and for peace, for life and for liberty, and he fights for the people. He fights for freedom.

In the end, though, Enjolras will die for none of these things.

Enjolras will die for Marius. Because in the end, everything comes down to love. And in the end, there is something twisted about the way Enjolras’ heart has chained itself to Marius Pontmercy, throwing away the key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. 4) shy love (forbidden love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> Cosmic Love (Florence + The Machine)  
> For The Last Time (Dean Lewis) [Marius/Enjolras]

4\. shy love (forbidden love)

**back to the beginning…**

  
  


_ a falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes _

_ I screamed aloud as it tore through them _

_ and now it’s left me blind _

A week before the barricade, the men stop leaving. They sleep curled under or sprawled on top of the tables, drinks sometimes still in hand. Marius is the one who collects their cups, mopping up the puddles their spills leave on the floor. Enjolras watches him, pretending to be writing letters.

“‘Ponine’s found a girl,” Marius says one night, so soft Enjolras isn’t sure he even wanted him to hear. Marius looks up, smiling painfully. “I miss her.”

Enjolras has never missed anyone; he’s never let himself. He has no path to follow here, no idea how to help his hurting friend.

So he carves his own, standing and pulling Marius into him, holding him close and pretending it’s enough.

_ the stars, the moon _

_ they have all been blown out _

_ you left me in the dark _

“I want to see her,” Marius says the next night, drunk on red wine and waxing poetic about angels and war. Enjolras is too tired to move, fingers cramped from writing so many letters, but he just nods, standing and taking Marius’ hand, pulling him up too.

“Okay,” he says, and lets Marius drag him down to Rue Plumet, where Eponine stands at the gate watching a beautiful red-haired girl, eyes black like the night. Marius wrenches away from Enjolras almost desperately, reaching for the raven-haired girl, but Enjolras pulls him back, knowing it’s better if the women don’t see them.

“Quiet, Marius,” he whispers in his friend’s ear, pressing a kiss to Marius’ shoulder. “We are here to  _ see _ Eponine, remember?”

Marius sinks into him, suddenly exhausted with sadness, and Enjolras holds him while he falls asleep, carrying him home.

_ no dawn, no day _

_ I’m always in this twilight _

_ in the shadow of your heart _

Two days until the barricade, Marius is drunk, lying like a star on the floor and staring up at the flickering candles in the chandelier.

“Men and women love each other, right?” He asks, voice hoarse from crying, and Enjolras nods, keeping his shaking hands carefully shielded from Marius’ no doubt blurred view.

“Yes, Marius.”

There’s a grunt and the sound of Marius shuffling as he struggles to sit up.

“Then why does Eponine like her so much?” Marius asks, confused. “Why do they look at each other like how they look at me?”

Enjolras sighs, still writing. Nothing on the page will make any sense when he’s finished, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t know, Marius.”

Marius sniffles. Enjolras considers reaching down for the bottle in his hand, but then thinks that it’s probably empty anyway and Marius can’t possibly get any drunker.

“I love them, Enjie,” Marius whimpers, the old, retired childhood nickname slipping out almost carelessly, and Enjolras closes his eyes. “I think they’re angels.”

Enjolras sighs again, finally turning and pulling Marius against him, letting the drunk boy rest his head on Enjolras’ thigh as Enjolras cards his fingers through Marius’ hair.

“I know, Marius,” he whispers. “I know, angel.”

_ and in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat _

_ I tried to find the sound _

_ but then it stopped, and I was in the darkness _

_ so darkness I became _

The night of the barricade, the students are flooding out the door, heading for the square. The streets are flooded with women and children, faces dirty as they smile and whisper thanks and prayers. Enjolras watches from inside, knowing he’ll be the last to leave.

From the shadows, Marius comes forward, standing at Enjolras’ side as always. He brushes their hands together under the table, fingers linking as the last candle is blown out.

“I love you,” Marius murmurs, and Enjolras stares straight ahead at the door, at the emptying streets and the dawn coming.

“I know.”

_ I took the stars from our eyes and then I made a map _

_ and knew that somehow I could find my way back _

It’s been too long without a shot. The night is too quiet for the battle that it is, and Enjolras wonders briefly if he could run, take Marius far away from here, rally the others to follow with Gavroche. Catching the eye of the volunteer, the old man who had come from Rue Plumet, he shakes the thought from his head, knowing he’ll damn more than them to death by retreating.

Marius settles beside him, Gavroche gathered in his arms. The men have fallen to dreams, the women here to watch over them, and Enjolras thinks of angels, and the one who sits next to him.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” Marius says quietly. Enjolras looks over at him, and he sees he’s shaking. Not with cold, but with grief, Eponine’s phantom weight still heavy in his arms. “So many of them.”

Enjolras nods, daring to wrap an arm around Marius’ waist and pull him closer.

“Things are always more beautiful the last time,” he says. “And those angels want heaven to be the last thing we mortals see.”

Marius looks at him, eyes wide. He’s scared, Enjolras knows, and for the millionth time thinks of telling him to run.

“Will we make it there, though?” Marius rasps. “Have we not sinned our way to hell?”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“We have killed demons tonight, Marius,” he says. “With our sacrifice, our sins will be repaid.”

Marius reaches out for him, Gavroche slipping in his arms. Enjolras steadies them both, cold hands holding Marius’ arms still.

“Can we start over?” Marius asks, and Enjolras smiles sadly, knowing hope is slowly dying.

“This is us starting over, Marius,” he whispers. “The end is only a new beginning.”

_ then I heard your heart beating _

_ you were in the darkness too _

_ so I stayed in the darkness with you _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	7. 5) unspoken love (honest love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> And I Love Her (Passenger)  
> Is It Just Me? (Emily Burns) [Marius/Enjolras]

5\. unspoken love (honest love)

**back to the beginning…**

  
  


_ she’s a whistle on the wind _

_ a feather on the breeze _

_ a ripple on the stream _

_ she is sunlight on the sea _

Six days.

Enjolras waits for his death as if it’s his birthday, knowing it’s just around the corner but trying to ignore it. The others are much the same, drowning their fear in drinks and women. Enjolras allows them, holding Marius close to him in the dark. With their foreheads pressed together and their eyes closed, Enjolras can see a future mapped out ahead of him where they live, where they make it to a better world. Then again, if there is a heaven, he knows Marius will follow him there.

For now, Enjolras’ angel sits in the corner of the Café on the floor, Eponine sitting in between his legs and cradled in his arms. She leans back into him, his lips pressed to her shoulder, and they whisper to each other, something warm in their laughter as it echoes loudly around the room.

The revolutionaries do not pretend to understand the strange sort of thing between Marius and Eponine, nor does Enjolras. There is something, there has always been something, but the revolutionaries know better than to point it out. After all, no one before has been nearly enough for Marius to leave.

But Eponine.

For her, the revolutionaries are sure, Marius would wave his world goodbye.

Wave  _ them _ goodbye as if they had never been more than strangers on the street.

_ she’s a soft summer rain _

_ falling gently through the trees _

_ and I love her _

Five days.

Marius disappears into the night with Eponine on his arm, the two dancing in the rain out in the street. Enjolras watches them, his red flag wrapped around him like a blanket as he tries to sleep.

He wonders if Marius will ever look at him like that - like he’s hung the stars and painted the moon. Most likely not, but then again there’s something unique about the way Marius looks at him anyhow, a certain sort of smile Enjolras knows Eponine has never seen.

Of course, there are days he wonders if Marius will leave them. Reject the revolution, retreat to quiet studies and a loving wife, and visit their graves with Eponine by his side. But as time goes on, as their deaths draw closer, Enjolras wonders less and less. Partly because there’s a revolution on its way,  _ their _ revolution, but mostly because Marius comes back.

Marius always comes back.

_ she’s cunning as a fox _

_ clever as a crow _

_ solid as a rock _

_ she is stubborn as a stone _

Four days.

The dirty girl is waiting outside, a letter in her pocket from the red-haired one at Rue Plumet, and Marius rushes for the door as soon as she knocks on the window. Enjolras is speaking, giving yet another speech about the injustices of the government, but upon the sight of Eponine he goes quiet, staring out the window with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

Marius is beaming, his hands on her waist as he spins her around, shouting her name in joy. She laughs, the sound melodious, and then they’re spinning again, eyes sparkling as they wander farther and farther away from the Café, away from home.

The others stare with him until they disappear into the night, their hands on his shoulders as if they know. Enjolras swallows his tears and prays they don’t.

_ she’s a hardheaded woman _

_ and the best one that I know _

_ and I love her _

Three days.

“Mari,” Enjolras says, desperate now. “Mari, angel, please.”

Marius shakes his head, dried tear tracks traced over by new droplets on his cheeks. His hands are trembling around the bottle, yet even as Enjolras tugs at it Marius won’t let go.

Enjolras sighs.

“Mari,” he whispers, suddenly exhausted. “Mari, Eponine will be here come morning. You know she will; she always is.”

Marius shakes his head again, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head in his arms. He mumbles something, and Enjolras sighs once more, wishing for the millionth time that he hadn’t let Marius drink with them.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, pulling Marius’ crumpled body closer and letting the boy cry into him. “I’m here, and she’ll be here soon.”

Dropping a kiss to Marius’ hair, he listens to the boy sniffle and feels trembling fingers clench into a fist around the fabric of his coat.

“She’ll be here soon.”

_ she’s as new as the springtime _

_ strong as autumn blows _

_ warm as the summer _

_ and soft as the snow _

Two days.

The others haven’t slept since last night, frantically drawing out plans and loading weapons. They drink sometimes, but for the most part stay sober, desperate to remember their last few hours. Besides, as well as wine may wash away sorrow, there is very little it can do about fear.

Marius stays in the corner, arms around Eponine as she holds Gavroche in hers, the three of them watching Enjolras as he stands on a table and waves his red flag, singing for glory.

He watches them, wondering if this will be his happy end: at rest, watching his angel from afar, rather than so close he can touch him, but never in the way he wants.

_ she’s a thousand miles from here _

_ but she’s everywhere I go _

_ cause I love her _

Today.

They build the barricade slowly, beginning at dawn and ending just as the moon peeks out from behind the clouds. The night has been silent, undisturbed, but the revolutionaries know better than to believe they’ve been overlooked.

Most of them are sleeping now. Normally, Enjolras would be shaking them, begging them to stay awake, to remember their cause. But there’s no sign of an attack until morning, no soldiers in the street, and so, with cautious eyes darting about, Enjolras lets them rest.

Next to him, Marius trembles.

“We’re going to lose.”

Enjolras answers calmly.

“You don’t know that.”

Marius’ jaw clenches, eyes glinting.

“Yes, I do, Enjolras. We’ve whatever bullets we’ve managed to scrounge up shot by untrained hands. We’re going to lose.”

Enjolras doesn’t look at him, though he knows Marius is desperate for it.

“We are going to  _ die _ here, Enjolras!” Marius shouts, then curls in on himself in a panic, voice lowered to a whisper. “We are going to die here like Eponine did. We are going to  _ throw away our lives _ for some… some fever dream.”

Enjolras looks at him then.

“We’re giving up our lives, Mari, not throwing them away. And one day someone will thank us.”

Marius rolls his eyes.

“Who, angels? Can you honestly promise that something will come of our sacrifice?”

Enjolras meets Marius’ eyes. They’re scared and angry, stubborn and unyielding. In them, Enjolras sees what he’s dying for, the world he hopes to change.

“No,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “No, I can promise no such thing.”

Marius scoffs, turning away, when Enjolras continues, voice quiet but clear.

“No one can promise change, Mari,” he whispers. “No one can promise a better world, nor a brighter tomorrow. No one can promise those things.”

He turns and finds Marius watching him again, eyes wide, and he smiles, reaching out a hand to touch Marius’ cheek.

“But I love you, Marius,” he murmurs, reveling in the way the boy’s eyes widen even further. “And I shall love you after this revolution and into eternity, despite any death or fear that may conquer us. I can promise no victory nor life, but my love… I can promise you that.”

Marius nods, suddenly deathly quiet, and looks to his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Well then,” he mumbles. “I suppose I can only promise you the same.”

_ she loves me like a woman _

_ she looks like a lady _

_ she laughs like a child _

_ and cries like a baby _

_ I think that maybe _

_ she’s the one that’s gonna save me _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:


	8. 1) broken love (healing love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> Dancing After Death (Matt Maeson)

1\. broken love (healing love)

**and then, you open your eyes**

**and everything is moving forward suddenly.**

  
  


_ do I know better than this? _

_ you’re a word that I can’t forget _

He’s still here.

They’re both still here, Enjolras is shocked to find when he opens his eyes. He’s at home, in the Café, Marius asleep next to him in the bed. The sheets are rumpled, pooling around their bare waists, and outside the window, the sun is rising, painting the sky pink and orange and gold.

Enjolras reaches for his chest. He presses his hand hard against the skin there, feeling his heart beat steadily. It starts to race as he rolls over, pressing a kiss to Marius’ chest and hearing his heartbeat go  _ thump, thump, thump _ .

They’re alive.

_ though the thought rattles my brain _

_ will you fold or will you remain? _

“Is this heaven?”

Enjolras asks ten minutes into the seventh day, Marius writing letters at one of the tables downstairs. Enjolras lies on the floor next to him, red flag clutched in his fist and thrown half-hazardly across him, and stares at the ceiling.

Marius looks down at him, a playful smile on his face.

“What do you mean?”

Enjolras shrugs, wondering suddenly if the sun has gone down or come up since they got here. He hasn’t cared to notice.

“I’ve dreamed about this before,” he tries to explain. “You and me, and an endless blue sky.”

Marius sniggers.

“That’s a chandelier you’re seeing, Enjie. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

_ Next to you? Always, _ Enjolras wants to say, but outwardly laughs half-heartedly and sits up.

“Yes,” he answers, “of course. But, Mari, please tell me - is this heaven?”

Marius’ smile fades and he turns away, shoulders tensing. His voice is quiet, irritated.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says gently. “Yes, because if this isn’t heaven, then you lived.”

Marius stiffens. A minute goes by, then two, and he slowly relaxes as Enjolras waits for an answer.

Marius turns to him finally, slipping from his chair to the floor. On his knees now, he takes Enjolras’ hands in his.

“I lived,” he murmurs. “I lived, for you. Like you wanted.”

Enjolras sags in relief, nodding. He slouches forward, resting his head on Marius’ shoulder. Marius pulls his hands from Enjolras’, running them instead through Enjolras’ hair, and Enjolras closes his eyes.

“We lived for each other,” he says, and Marius tenses against him.

_ if I don’t get better _

_ than this man in my skin _

“Enjie?”

Marius’ voice is hesitant, shy. At his name, Enjolras looks up from the letters scattered across the table, smiling gently at him.

“Yes, Marius?”

Marius smiles slightly then, fidgeting with the pages of his book. He ducks his head as he speaks, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“I’m alive,” he says, “but am I still your angel?”

Enjolras smiles, huffing in laughter. His eyes are twinkling when Marius meets them, his own lips stretched into a shy smile.

“Yes, Marius,” he says, reaching across the table for Marius’ hand. “You are still my angel.”

_ if I let go, would you hold on? _

_ would we fly? _

_ is it safer if we just say that we tried? _

Enjolras keeps the curtains shut nowadays. He’s not sure why, because it’s always beautiful out, but then maybe that’s it. Maybe he misses the rain.

Marius is asleep, crumpled over his letters. Enjolras wonders why he keeps writing those, now that it’s over. There’s no one left to write to.

He thinks about asking, but decides it’s better to let it be, wrapping his red flag around Marius’ shoulders. It’s cold and dark in the Café, as always, but Enjolras is too afraid to open the windows and let the sunlight come streaming in.

“Sleep well,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Marius’ forehead.

_ Maybe this is enough. _

_ are we laughing at the danger? _

_ are we dancing after death, you and I? _

There are times Enjolras awakes shouting, tears streaming down his face. Marius is holding him in an instant, pressing his hand over Enjolras’ heart and murmuring comforts. Enjolras looks down, reaching up for Marius’ hand, and sees his shirt soaked scarlet, tattered holes in the cloth and the bullets that made them buried in his chest.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe. When he opens them, Marius is still there, holding him tight. Marius is real.

The bullets are not.

_ as the sun waits to eclipse _

_ and the taste teases my lips _

A year after the barricade, Enjolras pulls back the curtains.

It’s raining. The sky is black and the window fogs up with his breath, and the door is shaking with the wind. There’s something peaceful about it, rather than sad, and Enjolras wonders what’s become of the sun.

“Want to take a walk, angel?” Enjolras asks, expecting one of Marius’ quiet nods as he turns around. Instead, he’s greeted by a pained smile and glistening blue eyes.

“I’m no angel, Enjie,” Marius rasps. “I’m not… good.”

“You’re wonderful,” Enjolras answers, wandering over to Marius and kneeling before him. “Why on earth do you believe otherwise?”

Marius is crying now, ducking his head to try and hide it. His back shakes violently as he sobs, struggling to breathe.

Enjolras reaches up and touches Marius’ face, gently, cautiously, forcing Marius to look at him. His voice is a gentle murmur when he finally speaks, carefully soft.

“Why, Marius?”

“I couldn’t save you,” Marius blurts, then slaps his hands over his mouth, crying harder. “I tried, I looked for you, but I couldn’t save you. I’m supposed to protect you and I couldn’t save you.”

Enjolras shakes his head in confusion, brushing his thumbs across Marius’ cheek.

“No, you saved me,” he says. “No, we’re alive. We saved each other, Mari, we’re ali-”

“I’m alive,” Marius whispers quickly. He looks down at his hands, now sullenly still in his lap. “I’m alive. Not you.”

Enjolras pulls his hands from Marius’ face, pressing them to his chest. He feels the phantom bullets in his skin, the blood that paints his shirts red…

“Did we win the war?” He asks, voice hollow, and Marius shakes his head.

“No,” he answers, voice hoarse. His hand reaches for Enjolras’, and as Enjolras looks up again with shining eyes, Marius smiles.

“No, but you won me.”

_ I’m too tired to wrestle with it _

_ will we burn, or will we repent? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	9. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST:  
> Time Of Our Lives (Tyrone Wells)  
> In Our Bedroom After The War (Stars)

epilogue

_ this is where the chapter ends: _

_ a new one now begins. _

_ the time has come for letting go. _

_ the hardest part is when you know: _

_ all of these years, when we were here, are ending. _

_ but I’ll always remember. _

_ \- Tyrone Wells (Time of Our Lives) _

  
  


Forty-seven years after the barricade, there’s a knock on the door.

Marius, or whatever hallucination of Marius Enjolras had been holding onto, disappeared soon after his confession, leaving Enjolras alone. At first, he tried to find Gavroche, and then the revolutionaries, but they’re nowhere to be found. And now, Enjolras can’t bring himself to go outside.

But something, deep in his gut and down where he’s shoved all longing and regret, tells him to risk it.

The rain pours down, drenching him and the red flag around his shoulders, but still he smiles, struck breathless at the sight of Marius’ familiar grin, his eyes twinkling with delight.

“Hi,” Marius whispers.

Enjolras laughs, loud and full. He wraps his arms around Marius’ waist and spins him around, hugging him tight as Marius tries to pull him somehow closer. Their feet on the ground again, Enjolras touches his hand to Marius’ face, amazed at how little things have changed.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, awestruck. “You’ve come back to me.”

Marius huffs out a laugh.

“Yes, Enjolras, I -”

Enjolras kisses him, finally. Half a century of waiting and Marius Pontmercy’s mouth is finally pressed against his, smiling wide.

There’s no describing what he feels in this moment, something warm bursting to life in the pit of his stomach. It’s a sensation he’s been told about a million times, but never had the luxury to experience himself, dead before his mouth could form the words.

“I love you.”

  
  


(Love is fire, he believes, as he has so often been told.

And so he pulls Marius closer, and he lets himself burn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! :) <3 (:

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
